November 8, 2016
My most recent seminary lecture was covering the books of 1 and 2 Chronicles. When the lecture moved to talk of the specifics of Solomon’s temple, my mind settled on the lavishness of it, with a thought that moved me. If God allowed such lavish expenditures to be put into His temple, does that mean that He considers us, His people, worthy of extravagance? I tend to think in terms of scrimping and saving, and I am familiar with the feeling of “not enough.”
But I think a lesson God is trying to teach me, through my (marrying late in life) husband of now 2 and a half years, and through a variety of life experiences, is that, in Him, I have enough and, most importantly, I AM enough, in the sense of worth.
Today was a lesson in the same. As work ended, and I closed up the library, I felt guilty about leaving work before the students’ basketball game had ended. A friend told me I could some swim at their pool and, longing for peace and solitude, I went to do so (all the while naggingly suspecting that it was wrong of me to want to be on my own). As I biked over there, the sky suddenly darkened, as it does before an intense and dangerous storm. Desperate for my swim, I continued on my way, knowing that God was going to punish me for continuing.
I should turn back . . . should go back to safety. I am going to get stuck there, and not be able to get home to prep dinner for me husband, or prep classes for tomorrow. I won’t be able to swim, but will end up stranded by the side of the road, drenched and miserable . . .
The whole while these doomsday thoughts ran through my brain, I managed to get to the house, talk to my hostess about whether or not in would rain, get in the pool for a glorious swim, and then emerge to look up at the sky in wonder. A slight sprinkle of rain had fallen while I swam, but the sky was bright and, there in front of me as I dried off, was a beautiful rainbow. I gulped back a teary-eyed sniffle.
Um—I think I get the message . . .
When I arrived back at home, my husband was grinning at me from our front steps. Rather than his usual dash for the shower after a harshly hot run, he explained to me, he was just sitting there, not ready to go into the house to clean up.
I grinned. “Yep—that was amazing!” Mutually relieved, we went in to carry on with the business of the evening in our unusually pleasant and airy home.